They Met in a Heartbeat
by ImThatTypeOfGirl
Summary: "And then there was a figure, upon the mountain top, standing by a steed of the blackest coat…" Winterhold is attacked by a dragon neither the guards or the mages can overpower. Who can stop this beast? Surely the Dragonborn of legend must come to their aid? One-shot with Onmund x OC Dragonborn


**Again, I apologize. I am shameful :'( ****BUT I CAN'T STOP WRITING ONE-SHOTS! ****I'm so sorry, but I do love them, though ends are hard to write :P This one is of how my OC Altmer Dragonborn (who is my actual game character!) meets Onmund of the College of Winterhold, under...difficult circumstances. Hope you like!**

**Please comment :D**

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_**They Met in a Heartbeat**_

It was a gibbous moon that night.

Onmund placed aside his filled soul gems, their serene light glowing faintly in the darkness of his room, stacked his spell books neatly on the shelves to his right and swept away all of his spare potion ingredients into a rather stained alchemy satchel. Stripping off his mage's robes, he slipped into bed and curled the rugged blanket around his shoulders. With a sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and prepared to sleep soundly until dawn.

It was then that an enormous bout of flame – accompanied by an other-worldly cry – burst through his window and scorched the wall opposite. Onmund sighed, waited until the fire had died, and then crawled out from his bed and pulled on his robes again.

"These dragons are really becoming a pain in the ass, aren't they?" Brelyna Maryon smiled from the doorway.

Onmund rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"So," Brelyna remarked as they laced their boots. "I've managed… seventeen hours of sleep this week? How many hours have _you_ had?"

"Not enough," muttered Onmund, straightening up and conjuring a massive arc of lightening between his hands. "It's time these dragons were taught a lesson."

They joined the flow of mages and sprinted out into the Courtyard, down the bridge and into Winterhold. It was snowing heavily; already massive drifts were swept up high against the sides of the ruined houses. The moon turned everything silver.

The dragon was perched upon The Frozen Hearth, massive bouts of fire billowing from its jaws. Villagers ran screaming from the beast; into their houses or over the hills. Guards stood their ground, sending arrows raining upon its thick hide. Even the mages' most advanced spells were having trouble injuring the monster. With a roar the creature took to the sky, beating its vast wings as Onmund shot yet another lightning bolt as it lifted from the roof. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead and his magicka running low. His strength was fading, and the dragon was coming back for more.

They'd faced these beasts before but never before had their efforts been so futile. This one _looked_ different, too. The scales of its brethren were pale green but this one was coloured copper-red and black. Was this one stronger than the others?

Onmund watched guard after guard fall, and then his fellow mages started to suffer too. His anger melted away and was replaced with fear. What could they possibly do to defeat this monster? He darted behind a derelict building as the dragon scarred another path through the snow. _Please_, he prayed, closing his eyes and bowing his head, listening as his laboured breathing slowed. _I have heard the stories but I never thought she was real. But I need her here, now. I don't want my friends to die._

The building against his back trembled as the beast landed upon it and arched its neck toward him, its hot breath upon his neck. Too hot.

_Please_, he whispered, his hands shaking. _Send the Dragonborn._

The mighty dragon opened its maw and fire burned at the back of its throat. Too exhausted to move, Onmund said his final prayers. _Even if you destroy me and send my soul into the unknown, please, __**save my friends**__._ The Nord opened his eyes and let out one last, desperate cry.

"SEND THE DRAGONBORN!"

There was what seemed like a moment of pure, serene silence. And then there was a figure, upon the mountain top, standing by a steed of the blackest coat…and the whispered words carried upon the wind.

"_Tiid, Klo…"_

And time slowed. Just like that.

Onmund could only watch as she came hurtling down the rock, clothed in gilded elven armour that was spattered with the blood of her victims, as was her enchanted glass sword. It was wreathed in a crackling purple aura which Onmund automatically recognised as lightening. The dragon's breath was slow moving, giving the high elf woman enough time to haul Onmund out of its path. He tumbled into the snow on his left and watched as she scaled the roof of the house to face the dragon.

Swallowing its fire it turned to face her; the words had faded and the world could move once more.

But Onmund could have sworn he saw the next scene in slow-motion.

The high elf ran along the rooftop, clasping her sword tightly between her hands as the dragon prepared to take flight. She let loose a war cry so terrifying it made Onmund's very bones hum as she reached the end of the roof.

And leapt.

She passed straight over the dragon's head, slicing it right between its eyes before tucking herself into a ball and crashing into the roof of the building next door.

Shaking himself, Onmund struggled to his feet and readied another crackling orb of lightening between his fingers before charging into the street.

The monster had landed upon the pathway and was roaring in fury, its own blood slithering down its face and into its eyes. The mage also spotted a steel-clad Nord woman at the far end of the town, an enchanted glass bow in her grip. _Her_ arrows, however, actually pierced the dragon's flesh.

With the help of the mages and the remaining guards, the high elf and her companion soon had the beast on its knees. With a smile, the Altmer speared the creature straight through its skull and it crumpled forward to rest at the woman's feet. The gathering crowd gasped in awe as a burst of purple and white light flowed from the beast into her body. She barely noticed. Wiping the blood from her face, the Altmer turned around and searched the mob, her golden eyes fierce.

"You!" she snapped, striding forward. It took Onmund a moment to realise she was talking to_ him_.

"M-me?" he stuttered, still drained from the fight.

"Yes, you!" she cracked her knuckles and - with a grunt - smashed her fist into his face. He stumbled backwards, whimpering quietly and clutching his cheek.

"What was _that_ for?" he moaned.

"You bloody mages think you're untouchable!" she cried. "What in oblivion to you think you were doing? You were such an easy target - practically throwing yourself at the dragon, crying 'Kill me, please!' Do you know how hard you make my life?"

Onmund merely let his jaw go slack. How was he supposed to reply to _that_?

"Oh and yes, _you are welcome_, seeing as I just saved your ass."

With those words, she turned away, summoning her dark-haired companion to follow her and they both headed into the inn where the dragon had perched. The crowd soon followed.

Onmund was left standing in the street as the snow fell around him, his mouth agape. Should he follow and apologise? Should he thank her?

A moment later, the Altmer's companion slipped out of the tavern and made her way over to him.

"She came here to see you, you know," The Nord woman said.

Onmund could only stare. "_What_?"

"Didn't you notice what was around her neck?"

The mage thought back to the battle scene, as the high elf leapt from the roof to attack the dragon. He_ had_ seen something around her neck. A very particular_, expensive_ something.

An amulet of Mara.

"But…why?" Onmund murmured.

The other Nord laughed. "She likes you! After your adventure in Saarthal she has never _shut up_ about you!"

"That was _her_, walking with me into that ruin?"

"It was."

"Thank you," smiled Onmund. "For telling me."

The woman grinned. "No problem."

"And is she…the _Dragonborn_?"

"Yes."

"And she wants _me_?"

"_Yes!_"

There was a pause.

"What's your name?"

"Lydia."

"C'mon, I'll buy you a drink."

They walked to the inn together before separating once inside; Lydia went to join the Dragonborn, who was surrounded by nearly the entire town, and Onmund strode up to the bar to buy them both a drink.

"What'll it be?" asked Dagur, leaning forward on the counter to hear the Nord over the hubbub in the inn.

"Just two bottles of good old-fashioned Nord mead," smiled the mage.

"So, the Dragonborn's in Winterhold, eh?" the bartender stated as he rummaged for the containers. "I never thought I'd actually get to see her fight!"

"I know," Onmund replied, nodding. "She's amazing."

"Right, here's your order," smiled Dagur, placing them on the counter. "Two bottles of our finest _original_ Nord brew."

"Thanks," grinned Onmund, dropping ten septims on the counter and turning away with the bottles in his hands. He made his way through the mass and to the Dragonborn's table, where Lydia and the Altmer were surrounded by admirers. She had taken off her elven helmet; her soft golden locks spilled across her shoulders which were still encrusted with the dragon's blood. He had never seen her eyes in this light before and they were utterly stunning, encircled by deep maroon war paint and seemed to glow dark orange in these shadows.

"Hey," smiled the mage, sitting down next to the high elf and placing the mead on the table. "I just thought - "

"You just thought you'd come and apologise and thank me and all that crap, didn't you?" She growled, turning to him. He was somewhat taken aback.

Lydia sighed and took one of the bottles from where Onmund had placed them. "_Sirrask_."

The Altmer turned to her companion, her tone slightly softer than before. "What?"

"Just_ kiss him_, will you?"

The Altmer laughed. "Alright, Lyd."

And that's exactly what she did.

Onmund staggered back to the College around four in morning the following day. Most of the mages turned a blind eye, for they _knew_ where he'd been all night. Brelyna didn't.

"Onmund!" she asked as he fell into his bed, a wide grin plastered over his face. "Where have you been?"

"Heaven," he replied dreamily.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you…_drunk_?"

"Nope," he grinned.

"Then _what_?" whined Brelyna. "Where have you _been_?"

"Brelyna!"

She whirled around to see J'zargo beckoning her from the doorway; she walked over to him and he whispered hurriedly into her ear. After a moment her eyes grew large.

"He _slept_ with the_ Dragonborn_?!"

"Shh!"

"And he's getting…_what_?!"

Onmund smiled and snuggled down under the covers of his bed for his well-deserved rest. The gasps and squeals of surprise of Brelyna and gentle shushing of J'zargo faded into the background and his heavy lids began to droop. Soon he was sleeping soundly in the safety of his room; it still had the scorch marks across his wall and floor - a reminder of the night his life changed forever.

In a day's time he would begin the long journey to Riften.

He was getting married.

To Sirrask, the Dragonborn.

_His_ Dragonborn.

Whom he'd met in barely a heartbeat.


End file.
